


Snowlock

by mocelli



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Trapped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocelli/pseuds/mocelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are trapped in a snowstorm.  Even better, they're sitting suggestively close in a tiny rental Escort, and rescue is hours away.  Cute/awkward/fluffy moments, plus major character development, are bound to ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowlock

 

“I told you this was a terrible idea.” Sherlock glared at John. “No one needs their own car in London. Cabs are perfectly acceptable. Not to mention more reliable” he added, gesturing to their situation. From what they were able to see through the thick blizzard, he and John were trapped miles away from any sort of civilization.

John shifted over from the driver’s seat, arms tightly crossed to conserve heat. His breath was visible as pale puffs of frigid air. “Well, I couldn’t have very well predicted this. Loads of people drive in the snow every day. Plus we needed it for the drive to your parents’.”

Sherlock’s parents had invited the pair to Christmas dinner at their home in the countryside, a few hours away from London. At first, Sherlock had been stubbornly insistent than no, he would not like a pleasant get-to-know-John-meal, he would actually despise it. Stupid, how Mother and Father assumed his relationship with John was more than platonic.

But John had overheard the phone call, and furious that Sherlock would so coldly refuse open hospitality from his own parents, convinced him to accept the offer. Sherlock had only acquiesced after John had offered Sherlock access to his laptop.

Sherlock continued to glower, hunched over as close to the window as possible.

“I’m not arguing, Sherlock. A rental car is the best way to get there.”

Snow continued to pile up around the Escort.

“Go try to push us out.” ordered Sherlock, after a few moments of frustrated silence.

“Sherlock, I’m not a fucking superman. There is snow, thick snow and ice around the wheels.’ He used his hands for emphasis. "'Course, you could try to help me. If you were, you know, a helpful, considerate person.”

Sherlock continued to stare out the window while John waited for an answer.

John sighed. “Fine, I’ll try. Maybe you could phone your parents meanwhile?” Sherlock began to pull his phone out of his woolen pocket. Satisfied with this result, John turned back and forced the car door open.

A giant, swirling cloud of whiteness immediately filled his vision. John slowly picked up his legs and ventured out into what he thought was the road, shutting the door behind him. His boots sunk deep into the snow.

Squinting his eyes against the ambush of flakes, John set his gloved hands on the back of the car and began to push.

_What the bloody hell am I doing…_

John reared back and again heaved his weight into the bumper.

_It’s not like I’ll be able to push the car out of and over the snow drifts…_

Then in a spurt of irritation, he kicked the back wheel. As always, Sherlock was right. This was a dumb idea. John would be at home in his cozy armchair, listening to the telly talk about the snowstorm while Sherlock somehow managed to discount everything the reporters said. Sherlock liked to be right, that cock. But home would at least be better than this nightmare, he thought as he retraced his footholes back to the driver’s side. Anything was better than being stuck with Sherlock in a snowstorm.

John quickly slid into the car and slammed the door. “Sorry, It won’t budge” he said, shivering. He looked to his flatmate. “Did you get ahold of your parents?”

“No signal.”

John should have expected that. They were already two hours away from London, after all. He tried to start the car again, if at least for the heat it would bring them. “Dammit, it’s blown out” “Not surprising, after all you’ve put the thing through” Sherlock retorted, sending John a withering stare.

John’s shivering intensified Just the short venture outside had resulted in snow getting into his gloves, and now his fingers were freezing. “We’re j-just g-going to have to wait for a t-t-tow truck” Sherlock’s glare immediately grew concerned. “You’re cold.” He thought for a moment, then leaned across his seat and grabbed John’s hands.

“Sher-” John started to protest, but Sherlock interrupted him, pulling off John’s gloves as he spoke. “Extremities are the most susceptible to frostbite; you of all people should know that.” He clasped his hands around John’s fingers and started to massage them. “Once blood flow returns to the fingers, any impending danger of frostbite will practically be nonexistent.”

John stared agape as Sherlock kneaded his fingertips into John’s palms. How had gone so long without noticing how incredibly _long_ Sherlock’s fingers were?

Sherlock drew back. “It’s quite possible that you’ll develop a form of lockjaw if you keep letting your mouth hang open like that.”

John quickly closed his mouth and looked down at his lap. “My hands…”

“Yes, yes, they’re warm.” Sherlock snapped. “Didn’t they ever teach you about the circulatory system in prep school? Or did they waste your brain on that solar system nonsense?”

But that wasn’t what John had meant. The moment Sherlock’s hands grabbed his own, it was like John’s nerves went into overdrive. With not just heat, but also a sort of electricity. A pulsing, brilliant energy that almost seemed to meld Sherlock’s grip to his. It hadn't seemed… real. Until Sherlock let go, it had been dreamlike. Vestiges of, well, whatever it had been, still lingered on his fingertips.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just knackered” John lied, quickly looking out the frosted window. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trying to hide any indication that his hands felt anything more than chilly. Right. He was just tired. 

Sherlock just stared.  “It’s only half past five”.

“Yeah, well, being stuck with you in a car can really take a toll on a person!” John snapped, then immediately regretted his outburst.  Sherlock had the look of a puppy who had just been reprimanded for an accident on the carpet.  

“Maybe you should just let me out here, then” he said, obviously hurt.  He started to open the door.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.  You’re fine to be with.  And it’s far too cold for either one of us to walk home.”  John locked onto Sherlock’s icy blue eyes.  “Just stay with me”.

It wasn’t just that John was worried about him wandering about in the blizzard- of course he cared about Sherlock, he was his best friend- but it was deeper than that.  He knew Sherlock had been the cause; that much was clear.  But the buzz, that pure energy he had felt earlier; John needed to feel it again.  To understand what had caused Sherlock’s soul to radiate right through the marrow of his bones.

John cleared his throat and sat back, slightly embarrassed.  About what, he didn't know.

Sherlock smiled.  “As long as I still get to use your laptop when we get back”.


End file.
